The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. My death, probably. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. As the carpenter's gaze wandered over this scene of devastation, his attention was drawn by Mrs. "I know you'll not deceive me.
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